


Therapy Sessions and Murder Contemplations

by Mystical_Artist



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystical_Artist/pseuds/Mystical_Artist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You want the pleasure you experienced when we killed Francis to continue. You don’t want the feeling to end,” Hannibal said after a brief pause. “Now that you have allowed this part of yourself to finally come to fruition, we must remain diligent to keep that feeling of pleasure alive.”</p><p>“Freddie Lounds called us..” Will hesitated and ran a hand over his mouth; fingers scraping over the stubble on his chin. “She called us Murder Husbands.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy Sessions and Murder Contemplations

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine, so on and so forth...

 

 

“Do you still fantasize about killing me, Will?” Hannibal asked, taking a sip of wine.  
  


Will lightly grabbed the cushioned arms of the chair with tense hands before quickly releasing them with a breath. “No, “ he sighed.  
  


Hannibal smiled and crossed one leg over the other. “Tell me, what do you fantasize about now?” He set his now-empty wine glass on the table beside him and clasped his hands on his lap, the perfect representation of poise.  
  


Will leaned back in the chair, lazily stretching his legs out in front of him. “Is this a therapy session, _Doctor?”_  
  


“I’m not trying to get inside your head, Will. It was simply a question.”  
  


Will scrutinized Hannibal from his chair and bit the inside of his mouth as he debated his answer. He hadn’t wanted to kill him for a long time now. Even when he sent them both off the edge of the cliff he hadn’t been trying to _kill_ Hannibal. Not really.

_Can’t live with him, can’t live without him._  
  


Will grabbed his glass from the table next to him and took a sip of whiskey before responding. “I still fantasize about killing; I always have. But I don’t want to kill _you_ , I want to kill _with_ you.”  
  


“You want the pleasure you experienced when we killed Francis to continue. You don’t want the feeling to end,” Hannibal said after a brief pause. “Now that you have allowed this part of yourself to finally come to fruition, we must remain diligent to keep that feeling of pleasure alive.”  
  


“Freddie Lounds called us..” Will hesitated and ran a hand over his mouth; fingers scraping over the stubble on his chin. “She called us Murder Husbands.”  
  


Hannibal’s lips twitched upward into a small smirk. “Did she, now? Childish though her magazine may be, perhaps she was right about this one. Does the phrase bother you?”  
  


Will slowly shook his head. “Only at first. That was before we killed together. Obviously,” he muttered, turning his gaze to just over Hannibal’s shoulder; all of the eye contact made it hard to believe Hannibal _wasn’t_ trying to get inside his head. He finished his whiskey and set the now empty glass on the small table.  
  


Will fidgeted and sat up straighter in the chair before he got up altogether and slowly walked toward the window. He clenched his hands at the memory of hacking away at Dolarhyde, of Hannibal leaping onto his back to hold him in place while Will stabbed him, of watching in awe as Hannibal took a bite from The Dragon’s neck. He wanted to experience that feeling again.  
  


Except…

He frowned as he scratched at his cheek. The wound was healing nicely, but it was obvious there would be a major scar adorning his face. He rubbed at it again –god, it itched- before dropping his hand to his side. The last thing he wanted was to break the injury –or any of his injuries- open again.  
 

He heard Hannibal get up and walk almost silently over to him. It was amazing, Will thought, how quickly they had both healed. Hannibal had brushed off his bullet wound and other injuries as if it was nothing and had instead completely focused on Will’s ailments, not taking care of his own until he was satisfied with Will’s stitches.  
  


The feeling of being covered in someone else’s blood-willingly, this time- had been intoxicating, and even though he wanted to kill with Hannibal again, he’d rather not almost die next time.  He had enough scars as it was.  
  


“The human body is capable of many incredible things. A bullet may pierce the flesh, but give it time and the wound will begin to heal,” Hannibal said, joining him at the window. At some point he had refilled his wine glass and brought it with him. He brought the glass to his lips but simply inhaled, not taking a drink, instead he lowered the glass and gave Will a contemplative look. “Touch me, Will. Feel where the skin has replenished itself anew; where the body has stitched itself back together,” Hannibal commanded, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  


Will gave him a questioning look before tentatively placing his hand on Hannibal’s stomach before sliding it over, going under the shirt to run his hand over the still-forming scar. He hadn’t put his hands on Hannibal since they embraced at the edge of the cliff, not even a brush of the shoulders.  He wasn’t sure why; he knew Hannibal would welcome it.  
  


Hannibal let out a quiet sigh as Will ran his fingers over the raised skin, and Will could feel the other man gazing intently at him, eyes wandering over his face. Will was anything but a vain man, but it bothered him that Hannibal’s scar from Dolarhyde was hidden under his clothes while his was in clear view on his face. Of course, Hannibal had scars all over his body from previous killings, including one on his face, and Will had his own mark from where Hannibal had stabbed him before, but…  
  


He wondered if Hannibal thought he was ugly now.  
  


“Will. You are bothered,” Hannibal muttered, placing a hand on Will’s damaged cheek. It was as if he knew exactly what he had been thinking.  
  


Of course he had.  
  


“It isn’t ugly in the slightest,” Hannibal said, lightly running his thumb over Will’s cheek. “Think of it as a battle scar, a trophy for our accomplishments.”  
  


“Not exactly the trophy I’d imagined,” Will responded, leaning in to the touch.  
  


Hannibal stilled the hand that was on Will’s cheek. “And what is it that you want, Will?”  
  


He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer. He knew he wanted to kill again, yes, but not mercilessly. Whoever the prey was, they needed to deserve it. He also wanted Hannibal’s praise and admiration for the new person he’d become. Hell, he’d even started _dressing_ like Hannibal to achieve that. But more than anything he wanted…  
  


“Everything,” Will replied. He leaned forward and kissed Hannibal firmly on the mouth, giving a satisfied breath when Hannibal eagerly responded. Hannibal moved his hand holding the wine glass so it wouldn’t get crushed between them and moved his other hand from Will’s cheek down to his neck.  
  


Really, Will thought, he should have done this before going over the cliff, just in case one of them _had_ died.  
  


“Will,” Hannibal murmured as he slowly pulled his face away.  
  


Will made a sound of discontentment and kissed him again, placing a hand firmly on Hannibal’s chest. He certainly wasn’t done yet. After all, he had waited years for this, and the last thing he wanted right now was to hear some poetic analogy spew from Hannibal’s mouth.  
  


“Will,” Hannibal said again, more urgently this time. “Have you called the police?”  
  


_That_ was hardly poetic, and Will snapped his eyes open in response. It was as though his stomach had dropped through the floor. He wasn’t sure which was worse, the idea of Jack and the FBI finding them, or Hannibal thinking Will was the one who had contacted them. “What?” He said, his voice barely a whisper.  
  


“Have you called the police?” Hannibal repeated, removing his hand from Will’s body. “Regardless, there is someone here.”  
  


Will stood motionless next to the window as Hannibal walked briskly toward the front door, and opened it just the cop knocked. “Hello, officer. What can we do for you?”  
  


The officer slowly smacked her gum as she studied Hannibal, her eyes immediately going to the wine glass. Will slowly walked over and joined him at the open door; he was surprised there was only one officer, and he hoped there weren’t more stationed around the house. Then again, the dogs would have alerted them if there was anyone else lurking around.  
  


The short officer awkwardly cleared her throat. “Uh…gentlemen. There’s been a few reports of a suspicious man lurking around people’s houses lately? Last night he tried to break in to,” she pointed down the road as she took a quick look at her notes, “the Johnson’s residence, and late this morning he was spotted in the field behind their house.”  
  


Hannibal looked over and shared an amused look with Will before slapping on a look of concern. “I don’t believe we’ve seen anyone around here, though I must admit we are fairly new residents.” He glanced at Will’s hand, which was resting possessively on his shoulder. “Have we, dear?”  
  


Will tightened his grip and then let his hand fall beside him. He simply shook his head and put his hands in his pockets, and breathed a sigh of relief.  
  


The FBI hadn’t found them. Yet.  
  


The officer slowly looked them both up and down again before removing a business card from her jacket. “Well, if you see anything, give us a call. Enjoy your um, wine.”  
  


She handed the card to Hannibal and briskly nodded at them. Hannibal watched as she walked back to her car and closed the front door, glancing at the card as he did so.  
  


“She seemed rather young, didn’t she? Hardly old enough to carry a badge,” Hannibal said as he glanced at the card. “Still, breaking into people’s homes is rather rude. Perhaps we should try to arrange a meeting with this man,” Hannibal continued, handing the business card to Will.  
  


He gave the card a quick look before carelessly tossing it on a table. “And what, invite him over for dinner?”  
  


Hannibal gave him a devilish grin. “Yes. It has been quite some time since we’ve had a dinner party. I’ll have to write up some invitations…Perhaps invite these…Johnsons…over as well. It will be much too large of a meal for just the two of us.  ”  
  


Will found himself smiling as Hannibal gave him an amused look. “I’ll leave you in charge of the cooking, but what should we use for the uh…subduing? Knives? Or something else?”  
  


“Will, my dear, we’ll use whatever you like.”  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome! I think the beginning was a bit choppy, but I hope it's enjoyable nonetheless. I've never written these two before, so let me know what you think.


End file.
